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The University of Nebraska 



PRACTICAL SCIENCE 



An Address Delivered on the Occasion of the Dedication of Plant Industry Hall, ai tl 
University Farm, on Tuesday, June Tenth, Nineteen Hundred Thirteen 



JOHN M. COULTER, Ph. D. 

Professor and Head of the Department of Botany 
University of Chicago 




OCTOBER 1913 

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 

LINCOLN, NEBR. 



MAY 8 1914 







PRACTICAL SCIENCE 



The dedication of a Iniilding devoted to Plant Tndustry. in connection with a 
university, calls for more than a passing notice. It is n.it a repetition of what has 
often happened; but it is a strikint;- evidence <it the progress of a great modern 
movement. It shows that the movement lias reached a stage where the suhject i>t 
plant industry deserves to become a part of the work of a university, which means 
that there is a science of plant industry as distinct from a /^racl'uc of plant nidiis- 
try. This association does not seem so significant to those coiuu-ctcd with state 
universities as to those who are living in the atmosphere of private umversUies. 
The pressure of a practical constituency is always felt at a state university, and 
practical community service is regarded rightly as a conspicuous part of the 
return that should be made for support. 

The University of Nebraska is to be congratulated upon this visible pledge, 
given to its constituency, that it will serve the great material interests of the state, 
as well as the intellectual and moral interests to which all universities are pledged. 
The occasion is a fitting one for considering what this new building stands for; 
whether for a revolution in the old university ideals, or rather for a closer articu- 
lation of the university with the community. 

Men who spend their lives in the older universities are apt to develop certain 
unfortunate peculiarities. These peculiarities may not make them less happy, or 
less useful to their professional students, but they diminish the appreciation of the 
community at large. In the life of such an instructor or investigator there is a 
peculiar kind of isolation that is bound to react. 

It is partly the isolation of a subject which is more or less segregated from 
general human interests, at least in the aspects of it the university man is culti- 
vating. As a consequence, he feels that his world is quite apart from that one in 
•vhich the majority of men are living. He is conscious of an interest distinct from 
their interests, which seem to him therefore relatively trivial. This sense of intel- 
lectual aloofness does not result in a feeling of loneliness, but rather in a feeling 
of superiority, unconscious in many cases, but often naively expressed. 



4 Practical Science 

It is also the isolation of authority, which comes from mastery of a subject 
and association with students who recognize this mastery. To speak with authority 
in intellectual matters, to give the deciding word, to meet a constant succession of 
inferiors, is apt to affect any man's brain. Either he becomes dogmatic in expres- 
sion, or he must hold himself in check with an effort. It is the same reaction 
that was observed in the case of the clergy, when acknowledged authority in 
position resulted in an assumption of authority in belief. 

The larger the tmiversity, the more intense does this sense of the isolation of 
superiority and of authority become, for it is stimulated by association with its 
own kind. There is much honest effort to break down this barrier between the 
scholars who represent universities and the great host of men who represent the 
community. These men are not so isolated, but they are just as dogmatic in their 
own way, and they are immensely influential. Even when the two groups mingle, 
the scholar is often only a man of incidental interest, who possesses much curious 
information about many useless things. And the scholar usually enjoys being 
drawn out and made to display liis curiosities, for it has the familiar flavor of the 
classroom, with its intellectually inferior students. 

Of course such contact between scholar and community is not the effective one, 
for it is merely that of audience and entertainer. Here are two groups of men, 
both powerfully equipped, who should be mutually stimulating in all that makes 
for progress. Mutual stimulation can follow only after mutual understanding. 
It is not for me to explain the community to the scholar, but rather to explain 
the scholar to the community. Even this subject is far too large, for scholarship 
has many phases, all the way from artistic appreciation to scientific synthesis. I 
shall try to explain, in outline only, the scientific aspect of scholarship, and its 
significance to the community. 

It is evident that the public is somewhat interested in scientific research. The 
most available index of the present interest is furnished probably by the news- 
papers and magazines, which try either to respond to the desires of their readers, 
or to cultivate desires. Even a cursory examination of the material they furnish 
which may be said to deal with research shows that it is scanty in amount, sensa- 
tional in form, and usually wide of the mark. The fact that it is scanty in amount 
is a cause for congratulation if it must involve the other features. The sensational 
form is a concession to what is conceived to be public taste; and while to a scien- 
tific man this form seems to exhibit the worst possible taste, the serious objection 



I 'rue tied I Scinirr ;'> 

is fliat to secure tlie form trutli Is usually sacrilieed. S'lme of tlie results of this 
kind of information are as follows: 

Men engaged in research are looked upon in general as inoffensive l)ut curious 
and useless memhers of the social order. If an investigator touches now and then 
upon something that the puhlic regards as useful, he is singled out as a glaring 
exception. If an investigation lends itself to announcement in an exceedingly sen- 
sational form, as if it were uncovering deep mysteries, the investigator becomes a 
"wizard," and his lightest utterance is treated as an oracle. The result is that if 
the intelligent reading puhlic were asked to recite the distinguished names in 
science, they would name perhaps one or two real investigators unfortunate enough 
to be in the puldic eye, several "wizards," and still more charlatans. The great 
body -of real investigators would he known only to their colleagues, thankful that 
they were not included in any such public hall of fame. And yet the public is not 
to be blamed, for it is giving its best information, and the fact that it has even 
such information indicates an interest that would be wiser were it better directed. 
This better direction is dammed up behind a wall of professional pride, which 
makes an investigator look askance at any colleague who has broken through it. 
The intelligent public is certainly interested, but it is just as certainly not intelli- 
gently interested. I wish to analyze the situation briefly. 

There is a conventional application of the term science wdiich I will use for 
convenience. Thus applied, there has arisen a classification of science into two 
phases, called pure science and applied science. This distinction is one that not only 
exists in the public mind, but also is reinforced by published statements from 
colleges and universities. An attempt to define these two kinds of science reveals 
the fact that the distinction is a general impression rather than a clear statement. 
A general impression is usually sufticient for the public, but it ought not to be 
sufficient for the universities. 

If the impression be analyzed, it seems that pure science is of no material 
service to mankind ; and that applied science has to do w-ith the mechanism of our 
civilization. The distinction, therefore, is based upon material output. In other 
words, pure science only knows things, while applied science knows how to do 
things. This impression, rather than distinction, has been unfortunate in several 
ways. 

The public, as represented by the modern American community, believes in 
doing things; and therefore to them pure science seems useless, and its devotees 
•appear as ornamental rather than as vital members of human society, to be admired 



G Practical Science 

rather than used. The reaction of this sentiment upon opportunities for the culti- 
vation of pure science is obvious. 

On the other hand, the universities, as represented by their investigators, 
beheve in knowing things ; and therefore to them appHed science seems to be a 
waste of investigative energy, and its devotees appear to be unscientific, very useful 
but not to be acknowledged as belonging to the scientific cult. 

The reaction of this sentiment sometimes has been to avoid the investigation 
of problems that have an obvious practical application and to justify Lowell's 
definition of a university as "a place where nothing useful is taught." 

In this atmosphere of mutual misunderstanding, the pul)lic and the universi- 
ties have continued to exist and to make progress, all the time acknowledging their 
interdependence by m_utual service. 

In recent years, however, a new spirit is taking possession of the public and 
it has invaded the universities. In fact, so conspicuous have the universities become 
in the movement that they seem to be the leaders ; certainly they furnish the 
trained leaders. The new spirit that is beginning to dominate increasingly is the 
spirit of mutual service. It is called by a variety of names, dependent upon the 
group that proclaims it; it is narrow or broad in its application, dependent upon 
the moral and intellectual equipment of its promoters ; but it is the same enduring 
idea. 

The university is no longer conceived of as a scholastic cloister, a refuge for 
the intellectually impractical; but as an organization whose mission is to serve 
society in the largest possil)le way. Furthermore, this service is conceived of not 
merely as the indirect contribution of trained minds, a contribution of inestimable 
value, as we believe, but also as the direct contribution of assistance in solving 
the problems that confront community life. 

This new animating spirit is so attractive and inspiring, appealing to what 
seem to be our best impulses, that it threatens to become a real danger, not only to 
universities, but to the whole scheme of education down to the primary school. 
The reaction is natural, and therefore inevitable, but its demands must be recog- 
nized as representing the primary and extreme recoil stage of a new motive. The 
new motive must not eliminate all the old motives, but must adjust itself efficiently 
among them.. For example, there is abroad an increasingly insistent demand that 
in the primary and secondary schools all instruction in pure science shall be dis- 
carded and various forms of applied science substituted, the imaginary distinction 



Practical Science ; 

being that vvhicli has been indicated. The same pressure is l)ein}4 t'elt in tlie col- 
leges, not to the extent of sul)stitutinn. hut to the extent of addinj; imi)ossiblc 
courses and weakening existing ones. My present tliesis, liowever, is interested 
chieHy in tlie fact that the same pressure has l:)egun to be ajjplied to the research 
work at universities. This pressure is apphed not only by public demand, which 
voices the supporting constituency of most universities, especially of the Middle 
West, but also l)y the extensive scientific work of state and federal governments, 
in which for the most part the immediate practical aspect must dominate. The 
more recent developments at our state universities are impressive illustrations of 
this pressure; and, as a result, in such universities scientilic research in connection 
with the pro])lems that do not seem to be related at present to the welfare of the 
community is li\'ing" in a depressing atmosphere. 

It is time for the public and for the managers of universities to understand the 
real relation that exists between what they have lieen pleased to call pure science 
and applied science. I cannot hope to make a statement that will appeal to all con- 
cerned, Init it may serve some useful purpose. 

As an introductory illustration, there may be outlined the usual steps that 
science has taken in the material service of mankind. An investigator, stimulated 
only by what has been called "the delirious but divine desire to know," is attracted 
by a problem. No thought of its usefulness in a material way is in his mind: he 
wishes simply to make a contribution to knowledge. No one can appreciate the 
labor, the patience, the intellectual equipment involved in such work unless he has 
undertaken it himself. The investigator succeeds in solving his problem, and is 
satisfied. Later, perhaps many years later, some other scientific man discovers 
that the results of the former may be used to revolutionize some process of manu- 
facture, some method of transportation or communication, some empirical formula 
of agriculture, some practice in medicine or surgery. The application is made and 
the world applauds ; but the applause is chiefly for the second man, the practical 
man. Anv analysis of the situation, however, shows that to the practical result 
both men contributed, and in that sense both men, the first no less than the second, 
were of immense material service. The ratio that exists between scientific men of 
the first type and those of the second is not known, but there is very great disparity. 

Another illustration is needed as a corollary. In this case an investigator, 
stimulated by the desire to serve the community, is attracted by a problem. He 
also wishes to make a contribution to knowledge. He succeeds m solving his prob- 



S Practical Science 

lem, perhaps makes his own application, and is satisfied. Later, some other scien- 
tific man discovers that the resuUs of the former may be used to revolutionize 
certain fundamental conceptions of science. His statement is made and the 
scientific world applauds; and this time also the applause is chiefly for the second 
man, the pure scientist. The analysis of this case shows, however, that to the 
scientific result- both men contributed; and that both men were of large scientific 
service. 

A third illustration is needed to complete the real historical picture of progress 
in scientific knowledge and in its material applications. A practical man, not 
trained as an investigator, faces the problem of obtaining some new and useful 
result. His only method is to apply empirically certain formulae that have been 
developed by science, but with ingenuity and patience he succeeds, although he is 
not able to analyze his results. And yet, his procedure reveals to a trained investi- 
gator a method or certain data that lead to a scientific synthesis of the first order. 

With such illustrations taken to represent the actual historical situation, what 
may be some of the conclusions? 

It is evident that responsibility for the material results of science is to be 
shared by those engaged in pure science, those engaged in applied science, and 
those not trained in science at all. The only distinction is not in the result, there- 
fore, but in the intent. As one of my colleagues has aptly said, the difference 
between pure science and applied science, in their practical aspects, resolves itself 
into the difference between murder and manslaughter; it lies in the intention. So 
long as the world gets the results of science, it is not likely to trouble itself about 
the intention. In every end result of science that reaches the public, there is an 
inextricable tangle of contributions. Between the source of energy and the point 
of application, there may be much machinery, and perhaps none of it can be 
eliminated from the final estimate of values. And yet, the public is in danger of 
gazing at the practical electric light and forgetting the impractical power house; 
and schools are being asked to turn on the electric light and to shut off the power 
house. 

Another conclusion is that all application must have something to apply, and 
that application alone would presently result in sterility. There must be perennial 
contributions to knowledge, with or without immediately useful intent, that appli- 
cation may possess a wide and fertile field for cultivation. It is just here that the 
menace to education is evident. When education in science becomes a series of 



Practical Science 9 

prescriptions to 1)c followed without understanding and without perspective, it will 
train apprentices rather than intelligent thinkers. Of course there is a place for 
just this kind of training and there are individuals who need it; hut the place does 
not seem to he the schools for general education, and the individuals are evidently 
not all those who pass through these schools, or even a majoritj- of them. 

A third conclusion is that there is nothing inherent in useful prohlems that 
would compel their avoidance hy an investigator who wishes to contribute to knowl- 
edge. While such an investigator should never be handicapped by the utilitarian 
motive, at the same time he should never be perversely non-utilitarian. I feel free 
to make this statement, for perhaps no field, within the confines of my own general 
subject, seems to be more non-utilitarian than the special one I have chosen to 
cultivate. There is no reason why a university, especially one dominated by re- 
search, should not include among its investigations some that are of immediate 
concern to the public welfare. 

A final conclusion may be that all science is one; that pure science is often 
immensely practical; that applied science is often very pure science; and that be- 
tween the two there is no dividing line. They are like end members of a long and 
intergrading series ; very distinct in their isolated and extreme expression, bui 
completely connected. If distinction must be expressed in terms where no sharp 
distinction exists, what seems to me to be a happy suggestion, made by one of my 
colleagues, is the distinction expressed by the terms fundamental and superficial. 
They are terms of comparison and admit of every intergrade. In general, a univer- 
sity devoted to research should be interested in the fundamental things of science, 
the larger truths, that increase the general perspective of knowledge and may under- 
lie the possibilities of material progress in many directions. On the other hand, 
the immediate material needs of the community are to be met by the superficial 
things of science, the external touch of more fundamental things. The series 
may move in either direction, but its end members must always hold the same rela- 
tive positions. The first stimulus may be our need, and a superficial science meets 
it, but in so doing it may put us on the trail that leads to the fundamentals of 
science. On the other hand, the fundamentals may be gripped first, and only later 
find some superficial expression. The series is often attacked first in some inter- 
mediate region, and probably most of the research in pure science may be so 
placed; that is, it is relatively fundamental; but it is also relatively superficial. 
The real progress of science is away from the super^.cial toward the fundamental; 



10 Practical Science 

and the more fundamental our results, the more extensive may be their sviper- 
ficial expression. In short, my subject, "practical science," is no subject at all if it 
implies a special kind of science, for all science is practical. 

In conclusion, I wish to illustrate this general statement concerning pure 
science and applied science by a single example taken from my own material, a 
phase of botany represented by this new building. 

The science of botany has had a remarkable history. Beginning with the 
investigation of plants for what were called their medicinal virtues, it developed 
with various progressions and retrogressions, until the botanist came to be re- 
garded as about the most useless intelligent member of society. His chief concern 
seemed to remove him so far from the general human interest that he was 
regarded as a harmless crank, at best a man of only ephemeral interest. No such 
opinion could have developed unless there had been some basis for it. It is 
entirely foreign to my purpose to discover this basis; the situation is simply to be 
recognized as a fact. 

The most imfortunate result of this public estimation of botany was that it 
lingered much longer than it was deserved; and consequently, when the other so- 
called sciences had won public esteem either through their services or their appeal 
to the wonder-instinct, botany lagged behind in public recognition, and in most 
educational institutions was the latest born into the family of sciences. But finally, 
it also began to render signal service and to appeal to the wonder-instinct. 

Without attempting to disparage the wonderful recent development of several 
phases of botanical activity, phases that have become so developed as to endanger 
the federal interests of botany as a unified science, there is certainly no one that is 
attracting more attention at this time, both in its scientific and in its practical 
aspects, than plant-breeding. 

It is not my purpose to recite the notable achievements that are to be grouped 
under this title, for most of them have been widely published, and are the common 
property of the scientifically intelligent. I simply wish to use the subject as an 
illustration. 

The practical aspect of plant-breeding, in a certain sense, is as old as the cul- 
ture of plants. Long experience in the practical handling of plants slowly de- 
veloped a kind of knowledge that became formulated in empirical practice. The 
general purpose was to improve old forms and to develop new ones. The improve- 
ments were numerous, and apparently were possible in any direction determined 



Practical Science 11 

by the need or taste of man. It was learned that improvements must be kept im- 
proved ; in other words, that they would not remain constant if left freely to 
nature. This was a laliorious but profitable method of plant breeding, the method 
known in general as mass culture. The most desirable individuals were selected 
and guarded through a series of generations, until the desired character was built 
up sufficiently for commercial purposes. This is the oldest and still the most widely 
used method of practical plant-breeding, begun by unconscious selection and merg- 
ing into intelligent selection. 

During all this period of plant improvement by mass culture and continuous 
selection, the so-called science of liotany was cultivating a singularly distant field. 
In short, botany was not practical, and plant-breeding was not scientific. There- 
fore, botanists on the one hand, and agriculturists, horticulturists, floriculturists, 
etc., On the other hand, were as distinct from one another as if they had nothing 
in common. It so happened that the botanists were dealing with very superficial 
problems in a scientific way, and that the plant-breeders were dealing with the most 
fundamental problems in an empirical way. 

As in any other practice, plant-breeding developed now and then a very suc- 
cessful practitioner, wlio made distinct contril)utions in the form of important re- 
sults; but this represented no more of an advance than does the fact that one cook 
can surpass another cook in the art of making bread. This caution is necessary, 
for the results obtained empirically by skillful plant-breeders are too often ascribed 
to unusual scientific insight. The result is important enough without reading into 
it what it does not contain. 

What may be called the second period of plant-breeding was ushered in when 
organic evolution began to be put upon an experimental basis. Plant-breeding had 
been practical, but with no scientific basis; now a new plant-breeding was estab- 
lished, which was scientific, and with no practical motive. The new motive was the 
accumulation of data bearing upon the problems of inheritance and the origin of 
species, probably to be regarded as the most important and most difficult of the 
biological problems. 

The third phase of plant-breeding can hardly be called a third period, for it is 
practically synchronous with the second. As a by-product of the work on inheri- 
tance and evolution, some of the scientific results have been applied to practical 
plant-breeding; and the result has been an expansion of its possibilities that may 
well be called marvellous. In short, practical plant-breeding is now on a scientific 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




002 580 760 8 (^^ 



13 Practical Science 



basis; and botany has at last attacked the fundamental problems and may be of 
some practical service, for it includes plant-breeding. 

Perhaps it may not be out of place to remind you of the large importance of 
this combination, for it underlies the welfare of human society. It is a combina- 
tion of scientific research and its practical application in maintaining an ever 
increasing food supply over ever extending areas. If it is the function of medical 
research and its application to provide for the welfare of a certain per cent of the 
population, it is one of the functions of botanical research and its apphcation to 
provide for the welfare of the whole population. Nor is scientific plant-breeding, 
in its restricted definition, the sole contributor to this end, but bound up with it are 
physiology, ecology, soil investigations, pathology, and the whole round of interests 
that touch living plants. In short, there is now possible, for the first time, such a 
cooperation of scientific results towards a definite end as to make rapid progress 
possible. 

In presenting this fleeting glimpse of the problems and the accomplishments of 
plant-breeding, I have intended to emphasize not only its fundamental importance 
to both biological science and agricultural practice but also the inextricable en- 
tanglement of the two. Any result of scientific plant-breeding, representing as it 
must additional knowledge of the processes of evolution and of heredity, may be- 
come of practical service ; and any result of practical plant-breeding, involving as 
it does extensive experiments with plants, may prove to be of great scientific im- 
portance. They are mutually stimulating, and both are necessary to the most rapid 
development of knowledge. 

It is the proper balance between the two that must be maintained. The physical 
needs of man, great as they may be, must never obscure the intellectual needs of 
man; especially as the trained intellect is the speediest agent in meeting physical 
need. On the other hand, the intellectual needs of man, noble as they may be, must 
never lose sight of the fact that the speediest results are obtained by the enormous 
increase of experimental work under the pressure of physical necessity. 

I am confident that this building is dedicated to practical science in its largest 
sense; a practice based on science, and a science that illuminates and extends prac- 
tice. And beneath it all is that finest of all impulses, the impulse to serve the com- 
munity that has expressed its confidence in giving this building, and that has a right 
to expect large things. 



